This safety cone marks only one place in the world. Once you recognize that it’s not the only place in the room that matters, you’re suddenly free to explore.
I’m not worried.
Well, I’m worried a little bit, if you really want to know, but not deeply.
Every time a new generation of cell phone comes out, the cameras improve. Editing software improves, processing power improves, computational photographic algorithms improve. You can now essentially pre-set your camera with different moods depending on the kind of photo you’re trying to capture. Want a cool desaturated look to suggest casual ennui? Tap, slide, shoot, done. Want an edgy chiaroscuro that halos a light behind a silhouetted head? There’s a pre-set for that.
Lots of people keep buying this gear. Some even mess with the tools and try it out, flooding social media channels with their clever photo experiments. But even among those who freak to geek on this stuff, it’s not likely that they’re going to eat my lunch anytime soon.
When typewriters became commonly available, the ubiquity of books bloomed like spring. When word processors showed up, June started bustin’ out all over. The tools themselves democratized the activity, and a crowd of new voices appeared who might never have considered putting words in logical order before. The total number of words flowing out into the world turned into a torrent. Ease of use amplified total use.
That’s the history of cameras too, going back to the earliest incarnations of easily changeable film all the way up to the latest mega-pixel amazements on the market. Photos flood every imaginable surface now. To millions of people, carefully manicured media are more common than sights of the natural world.
Here’s what hasn’t changed with the ubiquity of it all this tech: quality. It’s hard to be good, and being good is usually a function of discipline and hard work.
And that, my friend, is why I’m not desperately worried.
It used to be that anyone who could run a four minute mile was a superstar. It’s now something that precocious high schoolers can apparently achieve.
But evidence of ability does not imply evidence of ubiquity. The speedy teen hardly describes the new normal. It’s true there have been hundreds before him, but it’s still rare. Running also used to be something people did only when we were being chased by tigers or playing in the park. It’s now something people simply do, which means there’s a better chance those greater numbers would promote a roadrunner.
It’s similar with contemporary creative work. Proletariat access to powerful tools certainly enables millions of people to do billions of artistic experiments that otherwise would have been unavailable. It’s inevitable that amid those huge numbers there would simply be a statistical chance of more good work being done. It’s the same principle as the theoretical view that life on other planets must exist: the numbers are simply too large to presume otherwise. It’s the same as giving and infinite number of monkeys and infinite amount of time and winding up with the works of Shakespeare.
But proportionate to the overall population, excellence is still rare. Talent? Sure, there’s lots of that. But excellence is something else. Talent matters, of course. Some people are born faster than others. That sub-four runner clearly has the biological hardware that makes it possible for him to light the track on fire. But talent alone is like simply having access to cool tools: access without practice does not independently confer greatness. Discipline and repeated effort are much more vital, and those are traits that most people are unwilling to invest in adequate measure to rise above the masses.
I love to cook. Because I love to cook, I enjoy working in a great kitchen. But if all I have is a pan, a knife, a cutting board, and a source of heat, I’m confident I can make something you’re going to want to eat. The tools don’t make supper. That’s up to the person doing the cooking. Quality gets a boost from the tools at hand, but quality gets a much more profound boost if the hands doing the hard work have spent time honing their craft.
The challenge now is that because the tools are so powerful, we face a signal to noise differential so asymmetrical that the whole conversation about excellence must changed. With so much stuff out there—so many books and websites and photographs and more—it’s challenging for excellence to stand out among the clamorous throng. Good work is everywhere. But excellence? That’s still reserved for those willing to put in the work. Perhaps the real conversation should concern the following: Does excellence matter anymore if there’s simply so much good stuff available!
That question intensely vexes me. I worry that in an ocean of “not bad at all!”, the collective tools for even recognizing and encouraging excellence begin to lose their buoyancy. When “perfectly useful” supplants the search for the sublime, I wonder about what we miss simply because capabilities for discernment and perception have been swept up by the tide.